People are sometimes defined by a single instinctive gesture, made off the cuff. In the late 70s, I was recording a TV drama at London Weekend's headquarters on the South Bank in the bleak midwinter. We were working on a scene that required me to be in shirtsleeves.

Suddenly a voice announced over the loud speaker system: "Clear the building immediately!" It was a bomb-scare. Out we all trooped into a dank street on a freezing night. A large figure appeared behind me and draped something over my shoulders. It was Jim Goddard, the director, with a broad smile on his face – it was his coat. Perhaps his need was not as pressing as one of his actors in the middle of a recording that would be resumed asap – nevertheless the moment has stayed with me.